Opry is Her Name
by Zombielibrarian
Summary: This is a little story about a girl named Opry that's not so little anymore. Daryl and Beth Dixon's daughter from Daddy Daryl takes on Nashville, Tennessee.
1. Chapter 1

I do not own any of the TWD characters.

 **A Little Gal Named Opry**

"Come on Josh" Opry pleaded. "I'm runnin late and it really ain't outta your way one bit. Pleasssssse" she added at the end, making sure to flash her big blue eyes at the guy. She'd learned that trick many years ago by watching her mom work her dad up into a frenzy. "And, it's my birthday" Opry added.

Josh wanted to tell her no, but honestly, he just couldn't.

"Ya wouldn't want me to be **extra** late for work on my birthday would ya?" Opry smiled. Who was she kidding? The girl was already late.

"If my girlfriend finds out, she's gonna kill you and me both" Josh tried to defend his hesitation in dropping Opry at her second place of employment. "She's really jealous of you anyway Opry."

"Well, that's just ridiculous. There's no reason to be." Opry snapped back. "Want me to talk to her?"

"God no" Josh shot back. "That'd just make it worse."

Thinking she was going to have to hoof it on over to the outdoor concert venue, Opry had already taken her boots off and replaced them with Toms. At this point, Opry knew full well that Josh would not wait for her to switch footwear again, so she hopped on the back of his bike – a change of clothes in her backpack, her newest Old Gringo boots in hand, and no helmet. Daryl Dixon would have a duck fit if he knew she was riding on the back of a motorcycle with no head protection. Oh well, Opry dismissed that thought, Daryl Dixon would have a duck fit if he knew what she'd paid for those boots. The girl quickly decided that what her Dad didn't know, wouldn't hurt him. She made a mental note to call her Daddy in the morning – it'd been near a week since they'd talked and she missed hearing his gravely voice fussing and wanting to know when "she's gonna come on back home and go to school like she'd promised." In addition to that, both of her parents were pissed as hell that she couldn't make time to come home for her birthday. Her momma had cried and her daddy just couldn't hardly take a sad wife, so therefore, he fussed at Opry. Opry was getting really adept at tuning out her Daddy and his "bitch sessions." Big Brother Silas had perfected it years ago.

Opry was so lost in thought that she didn't notice that they'd already arrived at her drop off point. "Get off Opry, so I can get on home" Josh grunted. "Lesly's gonna kill me dead for sure." Opry rolled her eyes behind the boy's back and hopped off the motorcycle.

"Thanks Josh" she smiled. "You're an all right guy. I don't care what anybody says 'bout ya" she teased and slapped him on the ass. Josh only mumbled and pulled away from the curb. Traffic was always horrible in downtown Nashville, but factor in concert season on a Saturday night and it was unreal. Opry was running a bit behind, but hell, that was nothing new either – she took off in a dead sprint for the employee's entrance around back, shouting out hellos to the metro police officers who'd watched her roll in there. They waved back, one officer in particular – the taller of the two, not being able to take his eyes off the girl. Opry and the officers certainly weren't on a first name basis, but they knew each other's faces really well. The same officers usually worked concert events and well, Opry worked all the time it seemed, so yeh, they'd seen her around.

"Damn" tall guy said to shaved head guy. "Bet she's a hellcat."

"I bet she's jailbait" the Baldy cautioned.

"Can't be" was the other guy's reply, "she works over at Wildhorse too."

"Hmmmm" they both said together.

"Hey guys!" Opry yelled and waved at them in passing.

"Hey" they answered in unison.

"Hey" Baldy teased Stretch. "Is that the best we can fucking do?" They both laughed at themselves. "Who's playing tonight?" Stretch thought he'd change the subject as he tried to adjust himself without being noticed.

"Who the fuck knows" Baldy said. "Some country ass redneck I'm sure. Have you seen the people already lining up?"

"My kind of people" Stretch laughed. They both snorted.

Opry worked an early shift at the Wildhorse Saloon. Not a single one of Daryl and Beth Dixon's kids were afraid of hard work. She waited tables, worked the hostess stand when necessary, and conducted the line dancing classes that the tourists ate up. When the bus boys got behind, Opry could be found clearing tables and she'd never even shied away from bathroom duty. Opry loved it. The hours were long, the tips were amazing – as her boot collection proved, and she got to meet people from all over the world. If it was a night that she had to work a concert, timing was of the upmost importance. It was a good thing that she was really good at her jobs or none of her bosses would put up with her near constant tardiness.

Opry was running to the employee's locker room. When she passed the manager's office, she saw that he was in a deep discussion with some country clad person. "I'm here" she hollered out and continued her mad dash to use the restroom so that she could change clothes and freshen up. Opry had no idea what she'd been scheduled to do tonight, but whatever it was, she was ready. It could be anything from ushering, working the front gate, or handling the musicians. Opry secretly hoped that she'd be a handler that night so that she could get up and close with the one and only Bruester Hollis. _God Almighty_ , Opry thought to herself, _what I wouldn't do for that hunk of_ ….. Opry's thoughts were interrupted though by the screams of the previously mentioned manager however.

"Opry" Mr. Bivins bellowed. "Opry!"

Opry changed directions and returned back the way she came. Her heart was racing at this point as she tried to figure out what she may have messed up on the last time she worked. He couldn't be yelling because she was slightly late. Well, an hour late.

"Yessir" Opry gasped, clearly out of breath and scared shitless.

"Can't you sing?" the two men in the office stared at her waiting for a reply.

"Sir?" Opry asked in confusion.

"And play that mandolin thing?" he added.

"Yessir" Opry nodded in agreement. "I play lots of instruments, but the mandolin is my favorite."

"Can ya sing?" the other man asked anxiously.

"I, uhhh, I lead the praise and worship music at church. And sometimes, I sing at my other job if somebody doesn't show. And, oh, I sing over at Vanderbilt Children's Hospital, but that's just for kids and they like anything" Opry rattled on. "Why?"

The nervous guy handed Opry a set list. "Ya ever heard of any of those songs?"

Opry looked over the list. A small smile threatened to break out across her lips. She knew every one of those freakin songs. This was Bruester's play list. "Yes sir – I'm familiar with these songs."

"Familiar?" the guy asked. "That the best we got?" he asked Opry's manager. Beads of sweat were forming on Mr. Bivin's upper lip.

"Awww, Opry, I hear ya singing and humming to yourself all the time" Bivins sputtered. "Surely to God, you're more than familiar with these songs. Come on girl, throw me a bone here."

"Well, Mr. Bivins, Sir" Opry began to explain. "I's always taught not to be a blowhard." Clearly, Mr. Bivins didn't understand what a blowhard was as he got red in the face. "I mean, somebody who brags on themselves. I's always taught to take the humble road Sir."

The uptight guy, who must have been Bruester's manager or something, was fighting laughter at this point to see this little bitty girl getting this full of shit venue manager all matter of torn up. He quickly pointed to one of the songs on the play list. "If I were to give you the sheet music to this song right here, could you play it tonight?"

Opry looked directly at the band's manager. "I could play it right now if I had my instrument." The band's manager pulled out his cell phone and punched a number.

"Yeh, Chris" he barked out. "Get us a mandolin to the manager's office – now." He looked back at Opry. Can ya sing June Carter's part on this song right here?" he pointed to another item on the list.

"Pffft" Opry looked down at the "CASH" shirt she was wearing. The manager smirked at Opry. "Yessir" she replied. "I sure can."

"Think ya could sing back up with the other girls as well?" he continued the frazzled interview.

Opry nodded, "Yessir" she said.

"Very well" the band's representative said. "Want to be up on that stage tonight?"

Opry could no longer contain her smile – this is what she'd been waiting for – something exciting to happen in her life. "Yessir" Opry answered. What a freakin birthday this was turning out to be! Opry thought to herself.

"Sing for me while we're waiting on that mandolin" the man told her.

 _ **We got married in a fever, hotter than a pepper sprout.**_

 _ **We've been talkin' 'bout Jackson, ever since the fire went out.**_

 _ **I'm goin' to Jackson, I'm gonna mess around.**_

 _ **Yeah, I'm goin' to Jackson, Look out Jackson town.**_

 _ **Well, go on down to Jackson: go ahead and wreck your health.**_

 _ **Go play your hand you big-talkin' man, make a big fool of yourself.**_

The band's manager held his hand up. He was having trouble containing his excitement. "Damn, Little Lady" he admitted. "I think you've seriously underestimated your vocal skills." A scraggly looking guy slid into the office, Cramer style, with an instrument in his hand. The manager pointed to Opry and so Chris The Scraggly handed the mandolin over to Opry. Opry spent a few tense moments tuning it to her liking and then asked, "where's the music?"

All three men stood there in awe as they listened to Opry plink out the tune to Bruester's newest hit.

"Chris" the manager spoke when Opry finished playing. "Get her to hair and make-up – then wardrobe."

 **If you didn't catch it, or if you don't remember my story** _ **Daddy Daryl**_ **, this is Opry from that story. In an unfortunate set of circumstances,** _ **Daddy Daryl**_ **may have been lost to us forever. I'm still digging through flash drives and old laptops looking for my original story – and I'm still sick over the whole thing. I spent this past weekend in Nashville - something my husband and I do often – and I could not get this story out of my head. Hope you enjoyed reading it.**


	2. Chapter 2

I do not own any of the TWD characters.

 **You and Tequilla**

The band's manager turned on his heels and left Mr. Bivins' office. Chris The Scraggly grabbed Opry by the wrist and turned to leave as well. Opry called out to her boss on the way out the door. "Call Silas and tell him what's going on – he won't believe it comin from me!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Opry wasn't quite prepared for how bright the lights would really be up there on that stage. They were bright and hot and she was sweating like a hog. She'd caught a glimpse of Silas backstage wearing some kind of VIP pass – Opry figured Mr. Bivins went all out for her and for that she was truly grateful.

The other backup singers had given her a quick rundown of what to do before they went on stage and they'd practiced with her a bit while the warm up act was on. When the time came though, Opry felt as if she were floating above the stage watching herself – she'd never been so terrified and elated at the same time.

Three songs down and she hadn't screwed anything up too bad yet. There'd been a few strange looks from the band members and Bruester himself. Hell, they probably weren't even aware that one of the backup singers had been arrested in a back alley earlier that day. That's how Opry had ended up on the stage. Opry took advantage of the break in singing to scan the stage and try to put names with faces and who everyone "belonged" to. The singer that seemed to be in charge had introduced herself "I'm Stacey" she held out her hand. "The drummer is mine so don't get any ideas Cutie Pie."

"Oh, okay" Opry smiled.

"This here is Audrey" Stacey continued. "The bass player is hers."

"Alright" Opry agreed.

"Anybody else is fair game" Audrey added.

"Well then" Opry said. "What about Bruester? Who does he belong to?"

Audrey snorted. "Shit" she and Stacey both laughed. "We're beginning to think he must be gay." _Figures_ Opry thought to herself, _the hottest ones always are. Damn_.

Opry had zoned out for a split second but Stacey was soon elbowing her to gain her attention. Audrey had picked up the mandolin and handed it to Opry.

"You're up Little Bit" she smiled at Opry. Opry took a deep breath and begin to slowly pluck out the first notes of the next song on the play list. The tempo of the song picked up and a guy playing the banjo joined Opry's side. Opry's face was on fire – she could feel Bruester's gaze on her. Once the intro was over and Bruester began to sing, Opry felt that she could relax just a bit, but not too much as she still had to play a bit throughout the song. Once it was over, the crowd just went wild. It was, after all, one of his newest songs and it had quickly hit the top ten list within weeks of its release.

"I'm gonna have to stop for just a minute and ask what the heck's goin on here?" Bruester laughed. "Joe" Bruester continued "Who's that little gal playin the mandolin tonight? Where the hell's Karen?"

"Heard tell Karen got ahold of some bad sushi at that gas station we stopped at up there in Bowling Green, Kentucky" Joe deadpanned.

"Damn" Bruester laughed. "We stop somewhere in Kentucky?"

The crowd laughed at the bandmates' back and forth banter.

Joe, Opry assumed that the banjo player was Joe, ever so gently ushered Opry to Bruester's side. _Oh Dear God_ Opry thought to herself. _This is it. This is it. I'm goin to vomit right here on stage in front of God and everyone_. She stood up straight and tall though, well, as tall as she could. They'd put her in a light blue A line dress that hit well above her legs. And cowboy boots – her own, thank goodness.

"What's your name sweetheart?" Bruester asked.

Opry delicately cleared her throat. "Opry – well, that's my middle name. But that's what I go by mostly – Opry."

Bruester looked to the backup singers and then to the band members around him for verification. They all nodded their heads. "You've got to be kiddin me. Your name is Opry?" Opry nodded. "Are you shittin me?"

"No Sir, I am not" Opry replied with every bit of spunk she had and put her hands on her hips. The crowd whooped and hollered, cheering loudly. "My brother named me. Here's here tonight – backstage. Hey Silas!" Opry waved towards her big brother.

The crowd laughed and clapped. So did Bruester.

"My Goodness" Bruester teased. "Girl, are you even legal?"

"Well" Opry teased back. "I guess it depends on what ya have in mind." Again, the crowd went wild. Opry looked over to Stacey and Audrey for a little bit of moral support and they were both holding their sides from laughing so hard.

For once in his life Bruester Hollis was speechless so Opry continued. She'd learned a thing or two from her Uncle Merle about shooting the shit. "Let's see. I can legally buy cigarettes although I never would. I can buy fireworks but I never really needed to – my brothers and I usually just stole them. I can't buy beer or whiskey yet, unless of course I got my cousin's ID with me– I stole that too. Oh, you never said what ya had in mind." Opry looked Bruester dead in the eyes, raising one of her eyebrows.

"I don't really think I oughta say what I have in mind right now" he smirked.

"Oh" Opry said. "I'm past the age of consent if ya were wonderin." That's about all the crowd could take – the whole place erupted into a symphony of clapping and foot stomping.

The band members had never seen anyone get the better of Bruester Hollis. He was red in the face and having difficulty moving to the next segment of the show. One of the guitarist decided to give him a hint and played a bit of Jackson to spur Bruester along.

"Well, Miss Opry" Bruester had now gained a bit of composure back "I heard ya showed up tonight wearing a Cash t shirt. You a Cash fan?"

"Heck yeh" Opry replied.

"Think ya could sing a couple songs with me?" Bruester asked. "Might mix it up a little."

Opry began to get nervous. _No, don't switch songs on me. I'm only prepared for Jackson. Oh God, Oh God – he knows that too. What a jerk!_

"Sure" Opry said confidently. "Let's see what you've got."

Bruester turned his back to the audience briefly to say something to the drummer and the band members all nodded in agreement. "Ya like tequila as much as ya like whiskey?" he asked with a grin on his face. Opry didn't respond but just smiled back. She was going to fucking kill this asshole if she survived the embarrassment of making a fool of herself in front of thousands of people.

 _Baby, here I am again. Kicking dust in the canyon wind. Waiting for that sun to go down._

 _Made it up Mulholland Drive. Hell bent on getting high. High above the lights of town._

Opry began to relax. She knew this song. As a matter of fact, this is what she was singing in the shower in the dressing room. Wait a minute. He had to have known – he must have heard her. What a fucking jerk! She couldn't waste time right now on plotting his slow, painful death because she was up.

' _Cause you and Tequilla make me crazy._

They were sharing a mic and Bruester's lips were getting especially close to her lips. She licked hers unconsciously before the next line.

 _Run like poison in my blood. One more night could kill me, baby._

 _One is one too many, one more is never enough._

The two of them went on to finish the Kenny Chesney song, and then they actually performed what she had mentally prepared herself for, Jackson. The crowd loved it and Opry didn't wish death upon Bruester nearly as much as she had earlier, only a little bit. Before Opry returned to her place with the other singers, Bruester pulled her into a hug causing quite a ruckus among the concert goers. While Bruester still had her in his arms, he whispered in her ear "You are something else Girl – something else."

She whispered back, "You have no idea."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"That your phone buzzin?" Daryl asked Beth. They were both kicked back in their own respective recliners. Daryl was mindlessly flipping channels on a muted TV while Beth was reading some kind of murder mystery book.

"My phone's in the bedroom" she answered, then licked a finger before turning the page of the book.

"Dammit" Daryl realized he had to dig the phone out of his pants. For a brief moment the thought of having to go pick up Lee from the county jail crossed his mind. After all, it was a Saturday night and if Daryl didn't know better one might think the boy actually belonged to Merle. He seemed to like to raise hell just like his uncle.

"What the fuck is this?" he said to no one in particular. "Beth" he grumbled.

"Hmmmm?" she answered.

"What is this? Is this a phone call or a video or one of them slapchats or what?" Daryl asked no one in particular.

"You mean snapchat?" Beth rolled her eyes. "Just push the green button Daryl" Beth smiled. It was an incoming video call from Silas.

"Ya'll ain't gonna believe this" Silas was grinning. "Check it out" and then he must have turned the phone around to video their daughter singing with Bruester Hollis.

Beth jumped up out of the chair and ran over to stand behind Daryl who was unable to speak at the moment. There was some guy trying to eat the face off of his daughter. And she was on stage at what appeared to be some kind of concert – like a big ass, real motherfucking concert.

"Oh Dear God" Beth squealed. "That's Bruester Hollis! Fuck a duck!"

Daryl's head snapped to look at his wife momentarily and then back to the phone he was holdng.

"The fuck?" Daryl demanded.


End file.
